Crocodile Tears
by ibuberu
Summary: The tears that fall aren’t real and aren’t made from emotion. — GoldSilver.


**World – **Manga**  
Characters **– Gold, Silver, Crystal  
**Pairings** – Gold/Silver (Preciousmetalshipping) and some Mangaquest for teh drama.  
**Genres** – Drama, Angst, Romance  
**Warnings** – Slight angst, maybe? And there's a good bit of BL of course.  
**Note(s)** – _(Request #11)_ I don't usually do BL fics, let's see how this turns out.  
**Disclaimer **– Pokémon Special ain't mine.

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**Crocodile Tears.  
-**

He's an idiot.

Strike that, he's _the_ idiot.

And maybe you're agonized and demented, but what's the point? Gold is a jackass, and he's too dumb and oblivious to everything around him. The boy only finds out that Crystal likes him when he is fifteen, for heaven's sake. But it's not like you're pining away for him – you have better things to do than that. You skim through the pages of the book you're reading, trying to get your mind off the boy. Then, as if feeling in a tormenting rage today, Fate lets you overhear the sound of hurrying footsteps from the halls outside the room. Apparently, even the interiors of Professor Elm's lab aren't safe from the likes of him.

"You won't believe it! I just asked Crys out!" Gold barges through the door you have, shamefully, forgotten to lock. You look up from the novel you've been reading and tuck it tentatively into the pocket of your dark blue pants. Once the boy makes his appearance, the general person will be unable to do anything constructive, as you have learned from first-hand experience.

"I don't find that hard to believe," you say with feigned disinterest.

"She said _yes_, buddy," Gold decides to add on.

Well, that changes everything.

You stand up on your feet in alarm, the swivel chair you've previously occupied rolls away from your feet.

"Don't tell me you're jealous..?" A teasing smirk envelopes the boy's face.

"Get real." You dart back with short steps and immediately hide your discomfort under an insulted frown. Your hand plants itself on the desk you know is behind you and the stack of papers resting on the table collapses apart the moment your strangely tensed fingers make contact. You lower yourself on your knees and begin collecting the documents together because Crystal will scold you for your clumsiness and irresponsibility otherwise. Crystal – your friend, your comrade, one of the people who saved you from your petrified state, you can't afford to be angry with her. It isn't her fault and it isn't worth your friendship. She doesn't know.

It would do her well _not to know_.

Chancing upon the thought of your time as a statue, you remember how Gold held your hand and slipped the bracelet onto your stone cold wrist. And how he called you _his buddy_, and stared at you with hope, and something you distinctly imagine being longing and sorrow. Yes, he too, was worried about you when you were in trouble. Your cheeks heat at the indication of those words.

Suddenly, Gold is close at your side and you can feel his body heat resonating from his arms and shoulders and bent head. He picks up papers, amongst other things scattered on the floor that do not belong to the pile you have pushed over.

Your arm stills as his hand brushes by yours.

"I'm right, aren't I?" Gold grins ludicrously.

You push him roughly away with the hand that isn't holding onto the papers. As he bangs his head into the drawer of the desk and yowls in reaction to the unpleasant sensation, he stares at you with narrowing eyes. He doesn't want to give up – he never does. You distance yourself from him with a few side steps and plant your gaze back to the tiles on the floor and the lab reports littering them. It would be disastrous if he found out that you actually – seriously – liked him.

"You never had a chance with Crys, you know," Gold laughs mockingly.

You turn your head and stare blankly at him.

Oh, right.

"Idiot! I'm not concerned about that!" you retort back instinctively.

Gold's smile widens and he hops closer to you after he recovers from the bump on his head, leaning forward so that his face is dangerously close to yours. You don't know why you don't make an attempt to retreat or throw a punch at his annoying expression. Maybe it's because of the way his eyes shine like nuggets and how the grin on his face enhances the confident, attractive and carefree air lingering around his form.

"Then what are you so jealous about?" he mocked.

"N-nothing!"

You hesitate and grunt. He sees and raises an eyebrow in genuine surprise.

"… Don't tell me…"

He stares at you, reading your expression – as if you are made of glass and he can see through you clearly.

He places an experimental hand on the back of your neck, and you stiffen at the bold touch. You want to elbow him away – except that you don't. Gold looks at you unblinkingly, his taunting appearance softening, redressing itself with mild confusion and incredulity. He scrutinizes you with those fascinating eyes of his, taking in your red hair, your jacket and your paralyzed face – as if it's the first time he's seen them from this light. His eyes linger over your gaping mouth and he is almost considering something. You feel the brewing tension – it's tangible – rising to a critical and daunting height. You – can't – breathe.

"Gold!"

You discover Crystal at the doorway, staring at you with eyes that are wide and innocent and unknowing. A choking, rancid flavour develops in your mouth and you think that this is what betrayal is meant to taste like. She screams at the entire room for slacking off – bothering you when there is still paperwork to file and documents to type. Then, the girl notices his hand around your neck and the horrific, distant expression etched on your face. Of course, there is also the fact that the two pairs of lips are barely inches apart. Deadly realisation flickers painfully across her countenance, and you feel a stab plunge through your chest.

"E– Excuse me," Crystal coughs out before storming off.

You cringe, and you know she's suspicious and that her heart is giving way to the weight of reality. Gold leaps away from you and mumbles a string of curses under his breath. He shouts out in panic as he bolts out the door, "It's not what it looks like!" and, in turn, your heart groans with affliction. You've known it all along – that he'll never pick you – Crystal has always been more attractive, gentle, forgiving. She falls prey to his seduction and charms so much easier in comparison to you – and she's got breasts.

The black-haired boy gives hectic chase to the fuming girl. And you bring a shivering hand up to cover your eyes and attempt to pull yourself together. Your hands are cold despite your black gloves, your lips hurt and the back of your neck is scalding hot. There goes Gold again, chasing after Crystal and attempting to right his wrongs, leaving you behind to pick up the pieces alone. Something stings in your eyes and you grip your forehead hard with resolution. You don't know why this irritates you so much – a better word would be '_hurt_' – and you rub your eyes before any desperate tears flow. And if tears do fall, they _aren't _real, they _do not_ reflect your emotions and that you _aren't_ in grief. You know that this is just…

… _typical._

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**end.**


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